Graveyard Shift
by WildRoseRed
Summary: Even before the Great Revelation, Sookie had a special bond with the dead.When you protect the recently buried from grave robbers, it comes with the territory
1. Chapter 1

**I've had this concept in my head since I started reading the books. However, since these characters are not mine, I need to give credit where it's due. Thank you, Charlaine Harris, for your hard work and for sharing your creativity. I hope that all of you enjoy this.**

Sometimes I wonder how things ended up this way. I ask myself, "Sookie, are you out of your damn mind?" more times than I would like to admit. I suppose that things could be worse. At least Jason and I aren't the most hated people in Bon Temps. I may be crazy Sookie but since the vampires came out of the coffin, I'm not as scary to the locals as I used to be. Now I'm Sookie Stackhouse, graveyard keeper. I haven't quite figured out which one is worse.

You see, just as a Stackhouse has been living in the family home for generations, so have the Stackhouses guarded the graves of the recently deceased since the civil war. According to Gran's research with the Descendants of the Glorious Dead, grave robbery was common during and after the war. When every penny counted, people did what they had to do to get by. Stealing valuables off the dead could be a lucrative business. Not wanting to see such a thing happen to good people, my family began guarding the graves and have done so ever since. We live near the graveyard so it just seemed the natural thing to do.

Not to mention that working at Merlotte's doesn't exactly make ends meet all the time. Sam Merlotte is a good man and the bar isn't a bad place to work but a girl can only stand a leaky roof for so long.

It's a shame though. I never thought that I'd see the day I'd be sitting by Old Man Compton's grave. I had begun to wonder if he was going to live forever. Rumor had it that he was the oldest man in town. I don't know about the rest of Bon Temps but I wasn't about to question that claim. Mr. Compton certainly looked like the oldest thing in town. There was also talk that Mr. Compton had been buried with a few very valuable artifacts since he had no kin. The rest was going to be sold in an estate sale after church Sunday afternoon. It was going to double as a community memorial service hosted by the Bellefleur's. Ms. Caroline was a good friend of his back in the day.

If Gran were still alive then maybe I would've gone with her but without her, I didn't think that I would be able to handle being around all of those people. Being telepathic tends to make social calls more difficult than they should be. It's why I've never minded watching over the dearly departed. At least in death there's finally peace. Peace for the loved ones lost and peace and quiet for me. You try living a normal life when the "voices" within the minds of others never stop talking.

Besides, on a night like this, even if I wasn't watching over a grave, I would've been outside. The air was warm, the sky was clear and the moon and stars were shining so bright you could hardly tell what were stars and what were fireflies. It's magical. Like all those fireflies came to hold a glowing vigil for Mr. Compton.

As they say, all good things must come to an end. I felt the presence before I heard the footsteps. I tried to figure out who exactly would be dumb enough to come and rob the grave knowing I was here but came up empty. Literally. I couldn't hear anything coming from the mind of the could-be robber. It was a void. As silent as the graves around me.

Picking up my benelli, I pointed it in the direction of it.

"Hey!" I shouted. "You're trespassing."

"So are you," a voice replied. And what a voice it was. Confident, cold, and dripping with all the things a good girl should not be messing with. I won't deny that a little shiver went up my spine. I even wondered if he looked as handsome as he sounded. That didn't stop me from clicking the safety off, though.

"What's a sweet girl like yourself doing out here at this hour?" He asked.

"My job. Come any closer and I promise you, you'll see just how sweet I can be." I pressed the butt of the gun to my shoulder, and lightly rested my finger near the trigger. I could hear him chuckle a few rows away from me. He came into view but the light of the moon obscured his features. He was big. Much bigger than me and that's saying something. My safety zone was getting smaller by the second. Was he glowing?

"Your weapon doesn't frighten me."

"Well, unless you're some sort of haint come to escort Mr. Compton to the pearly gates, I can't let you come any closer."

I felt for the trigger and prepared to squeeze. That's when I noticed something odd. Other than the glowing. Please, let that just be an unusual play of the moon light. Somehow, I began to think that I wasn't going to be so lucky.

"You're not here to rob Mr. Compton are you?" I asked.

"What makes you say that?" He replied.

"Where's your shovel? I know that the moon is high tonight but, where's your flashlight? Either you're very new to this or you're not here to rob at all."

"Clever girl, aren't you?" He said with another laugh. I could feel my temper and my anxiety bubbling up. There wasn't anything funny about this. I could've shot him! Not that I had lowered my gun. If he wasn't here for the riches that Mr. Compton was buried with, what was he here for? This was bad.

"I don't suppose that I could convince you to lower your weapon, could I?" he asked. Do or die, Sookie. Any closer and I'd be within lunging distance. He took one step forward and I took one step back.

"Lower the gun." He commanded. I could see his face better now. Not only was he tall but he was a blonde with bright blue eyes. I tried to memorize his features. Not that it would matter if he killed me. I couldn't give the police a description of him if I was dead. Well, at least he was handsome.

"You will lower the gun." He said again. It wasn't a suggestion. He was staring very intently at me. That's when I felt it, like a breeze against my skin except inside my head. I stared back at him looking like a deer in headlights. Had he just tried to get into my mind? After a deep breath to compose myself, I smiled.

The strange man looked stunned for just a fraction of a second then his face became stony once again.

"You can't be glamoured. How interesting." He smiled back at me and that's when I noticed the fangs.


	2. Chapter 2

I would be a liar if I said that a small part of me wasn't pleased as punch to finally meet a vampire. Ever since the Revelation two years ago, I had been waiting for one to come my way. Now make no mistake, when you guard the dead, you run into a lot of strange creatures on your own time. I've seen things I never even told my own kin about. These parts aren't called the "Haunted South" for nothing. Vampires, since they preyed on living humans, were simply the best at hiding their otherness. This one was my first.

The excitement was short lived. If there was a vampire in my graveyard, then something has been going on right under my nose. I could only hope that he wasn't here to help dig up a newly born vampire. From what Gran and Daddy told me, after someone is turned, they go to ground then rise up a vampire the third night. I didn't think they knew for sure or even believed the stories but that was the way it was told. New vamps are very thirsty that first night too. I like a midnight snack every now and again myself but I don't want to be the midnight snack.

Moving as slowly and calmly as I could, I slid back to stand behind a gravestone. Sure, the defense it offered me was about as helpful as a glass roof in a hail storm but, it was better than nothing. It eased my mind a little knowing that I had something between me and the vampire.

"I'm Sookie Stackhouse." I said, trying to sound brave. "What's your name?"

"I am Eric Northman." He sounded a bit annoyed. "Why do you need my name?"

"If we're going to talk about your business in my graveyard, I have to be able to call you something other than 'you'. It's only polite."

With the way he was looking at me, you'd think that I had suddenly grown a second head. I may be standing in a graveyard at midnight and talking to a vampire but, by God, I'm still a lady. Gran's grave was a few rows to my left. I could only hope that she would be proud that I remembered my manners even in a moment of panic. Taking a deep breath and saying a silent prayer that I wasn't making a horrible mistake, I lowered the gun.

"Are you here to dig up a new vamp? If you are, that's fine but I'd like to leave before you do. Next time, tell me when you're putting a new one to ground so I can keep folks away too. There's no need for any unfortunate accidents."

Eric continued to stare. His expression was bordering on confused but for the most part, still unreadable. He seemed to be considering his next move very carefully. I wished that I could've heard what he was thinking. The novelty of silent vampire minds was quickly fading. The quiet was a blessing but knowing that I didn't have the aide of my telepathy was unnerving. Since it seemed a better idea to let him reply on his own, I decided to keep quiet and wait.

I took the opportunity to take a better look at Eric. If I was more confident that he wasn't trying to decide whether or not to kill me, I would've been all over him without a second thought. Men who look like models don't just show up in Bon Temps every day. With the way the light from the night sky and the fireflies played off of his pale skin and fair hair, I could've almost called him angelic. Almost. His natural vampiric glow only added to the strange effect.

"Have you lived here a long time?" He asked at last.

"Yes, sir. Born and raised here." I answered with pride. "My home has had a Stackhouse in it for more than a century."

"I don't see the appeal of this town." The way he said town made it sound like he wasn't sure that it was the right word. It just so happened to be the only one that fit at the end of the sentence. Well, excuse me. Bon Temps isn't exactly New York City but we like it just fine, thank you very much.

"I had a vampire apply to move into my area this evening stating that he used to live here as a human," Eric continued. "With the death of his descendant, he would like to return to his family home. To mainstream."

If I had had any doubts about Eric's opinion of mainstreaming, they were gone now. I suppose that I could understand that. If I had been living a certain way for hundreds of years, I don't think that I would've be so happy about a drastic change like the Revelation either. You may as well ask the human race to sprout gills and breathe water.

It seemed that the vamps had kept some secrets to themselves, though. The way Eric said that this was his area caught my attention. That tidbit of information was going to be saved for another time. Clearly, there's more to vampires then what they tell us on the news. I may be blonde but I'm not stupid.

"Who is the vampire who will be coming home, Mr. Northman? I have to say that this is very exciting news." And it was. A vampire would be not only moving to Bon Temps but he had lived here in his human years. Oh, how I wish Gran had been around to see this day. If this vampire had been around during the war, it would've been icing on the cake for her.

"You said that the man you're guarding was named Compton?" Eric asked.

"Yes, I'm afraid. Here lies Jessie Compton. May his soul rest in peace."

"The vampire returning is a William Compton."

"William Compton?" I blurted. "Old man Compton's great-grandfather?" I gaped. It's not a flattering look but when you're told that someone who's supposedly dead is alive and coming home, it can throw you for a loop. Tonight was a night for wonders. Imagine, if William Compton could come back from the shadows of death, who else was still out there, assumed dead? National heroes? Supposedly dead celebrities? Elvis? That would certainly explain the sightings.

"I heard he had gone missing after the war. They declared him dead and had an empty casket funeral. The box is in plot 19," I said after taking a moment to collect myself. That's when it hit me. Whoops.

"Mr. Northman, I would highly suggest that the next time you see Mr. Compton that you send him out here to speak with us as soon as possible. The Compton house and all its contents are to be sold this Sunday afternoon."

Eric laughed. A hearty, full, true laugh that almost had me going with him if I wasn't so peeved. Mr. Compton is returning from the grave but at this rate won't have any worldly possessions or a house to put them in. Everything had to go, right down to the last piece of silver. Not that a vampire would've kept the silver or needed it but it was the principle of the thing.

"Please, Mr. Northman, could you give him that message for me?" I asked tartly. Eric stopped laughing and gave me a withering look that clearly said that he was no one's errand boy. Especially not a human's errand boy. I decided to ignore it and continue.

"He'll need to speak to a lawyer about the house and maybe file some paperwork at the parish courthouse. If he would like to visit the house to sort through the furniture and such, he'll need to speak with me. The lawyer has one set of the keys to the Compton house but I have the spare. I don't live far from it, you see, and I don't think the lawyer would be too happy driving out here at night. Also, if he wants something that the late Mr. Compton was buried with, he'll need to speak with the grounds keeper about an exhumation."

I didn't hear a single word from Eric. I didn't get any sort of response at all. He didn't even nod to show me that he was paying attention. Maybe holding completely still and keeping quiet was his way of showing it. If it was, then I was glad that he was taking this business seriously. We may not be equals in his eyes but at least he had the courtesy to pretend that we were.

"If that was all you needed, Mr. Northman, I think we're done here."

"Sookie," Eric said suddenly. "Is there anything, unique about this area?"

"Not especially."

That's when I felt it, a chill running down my back. Slowly, I picked up my gun from the ground. As I bent down and stood back up, I tried to scan the yard and woods around me. Doing my best to stay alert, I quietly found the safety and trigger with my fingertips. Daddy's words whispered harshly in my memory. You can't give yourself away. Stay calm. Whatever you do, don't act like prey. Eric watched me the whole time and dropped into a small crouch, thinking that I meant to shoot him. He was ready to fight but I was last thing he needed to be worrying about.

"I take that back." I said softly. "Bon Temps has got its quirks."


	3. Chapter 3

If I made it out of this alive, I told myself, I was going to slap myself silly for getting distracted. Then, I was going to slap Eric for being the one who distracted me. If I hadn't been so focused on that vampire, I would've heard the night creatures go quiet long ago. The silence around me was suffocating. The only noise to be heard was my own breathing and heartbeat.

My night of wonders had just become an experiment in terror.

"Eric," I said. The time for social graces was over. "How's your night vision?"

He raised an eyebrow. Okay, so maybe that had been a stupid question.

"What do you see, Eric?" I continued. "There's something out in the woods but I can't see it."

Eric came out of his attack stance, looked at me curiously and slowly turned a circle. Thank heavens that the moon was high tonight. It made his job as lookout that much easier. Just as he was about to face me again, he stopped and focused sharply on something in the distance.

"There is a man in the woods." He said simply. "He's coming toward the gate."

Uh oh.

"Is he wearing a hat?" I asked. I aimed my gun toward the gate.

"Yes." Eric replied.

Oh, hell. This was getting worse by the second. I didn't have a thing to fight with. Sure, with most creatures a gun was pretty handy. In this case, my benelli would work about as well as a pea shooter against a grizzly bear.

The man passed through a shaft of moonlight and I got a look at him. Sitting low on his head was a wide-brimmed straw hat. Dressed in a well-worn shirt, pants and suspenders he looked like any other guy down on his luck. If I didn't know better than I would've thought he was out for a walk after a fight with his wife. He walked slowly with his hands shoved deep into his pockets. With his chin dropped to his chest, I couldn't make out his features. That was what his kind counted on.

"Can you see his face?" I tried hide the tremble in my voice.

"Yes." Well, at least one of us was calm. He almost sounded bored.

"Has he got wide eyes? Like he's just seen a ghost?"

"Yes."

"Hit the ground!" I shouted. Barely waiting long enough for him to get down, I fired a round toward the gate. As quick as I had squeezed the trigger, the man was quicker. I didn't even see him rush me. One minute I was shooting at him and the next, I was sailing through the air. If I hadn't already been winded, I would've had the air knocked out of me as I hit the ground. Hard. Everything around me seemed hazy. Lying flat on my back, I struggled to focus and get myself up. Distantly, I heard the sounds of a vicious fight. Growls, the distinctive thud of landed blows and an inhuman hiss echoed in my ears.

I rolled onto my side and sat up. My head swam and I thought for sure I was going to be sick. I closed my eyes to steady myself. The noise got my adrenaline flowing. My eyes snapped open and I frantically searched for my gun. I spotted it three graves down and scrambled to my feet. I reached my weapon and turned to rejoin the fray. I don't think that I'll ever forget what I saw.

The combatants were moving so fast, I couldn't have taken aim no matter how good a shot I was. They were a swirl of blood and violence. Like a car accident, you know it's horrible but you just can't look away. Eric's fangs were down and his lip curled up to flash them. The man was smiling a sick smile and his body was veiled by a black mist. Though he appeared to be a thin and weak sort, he took and dealt punches as quick and fiercely as Eric could. With a roar, Eric landed a powerful kick to the chest that sent the man flying backward. Straw hat fluttering to the ground, the man sat up and laughed.

His face was thin and gaunt, the skin looking as though it had been stretched tight over the skull. Bits of flesh were caught between his pointed teeth. Droplets of blood slid down his chin to drip onto his torn shirt collar. His eyes were wide and round and glowed red like a gator's.

Eric was on him instantly. He wrapped his hand around the man's neck and I raced up beside him. I couldn't let it shape shift and escape from us now. I pressed the end of the barrel against the creature's forehead and fired. Gore, blood, and bits of bone flew up around the wound. It splattered against my bare legs and shirt. I vowed that I would never wear shorts on the job ever again.

As Eric and I stepped back from the carnage, the headless corpse faded into mist and disappeared. I took a deep breath and listened to the sounds of the night. I could hear crickets chirping, frogs croaking, and an owl hooting. Everything was back to normal. As normal as it had been anyway. I must be living wrong.

"What was that?" Eric asked. He glanced over at me from the corner of his eye. The thrill of the fight was shining brightly in them.

"That was a Plat-eye, Mr. Northman."


	4. Chapter 4

Plat-eyes aren't something you normally see around these parts. It was always said that they stuck to the old and empty roads looking for travelers. They circle like sharks and the poor soul caught in the middle is never seen or heard from again. My family had often wondered if it was a Plat-eye that took my cousin Hadley. She had run away from home when we were teenagers. The local authorities had said that a large dog-like animal had been seen in the woods when she disappeared. That's the shape they favor when hunting. You can always tell if an animal is a Plat-eye, though. They can shape shift into any animal, person, or object of their choice but the eyes never take shape correctly. In animal form, they have one large eye glowing in the middle of their heads. I had heard in the officer's mind that an eye witness said that this "dog" only had one eye. He had assumed that the witness had just been drinking too much.

While modern inventions like cars made it more difficult for them to hunt, interstate highways made it easier for them to travel. I had never seen one this far west before. South Carolina and Georgia are their main hunting grounds. That certainly gave me something to chew on later.

"It was real lucky that you were here, Mr. Northman," I said.

"Call me Eric," he replied. Looking up at him, I noticed that the injuries from the fight were already beginning to heal themselves. His hair was mussed and blood stained his shirt in ugly blotches but he appeared to be just fine. Well, that just wasn't fair.

"It was real lucky that you were here, Eric," I said again. "Plat-eyes are much faster than people. I would've been killed for sure if you hadn't shown up."

"Yes," He said with a smirk. "I suppose that it was fortunate. Tell me, how did you know that the Plat-eye was there?"

I hesitated. Gran had always told me as a child to be careful who I revealed my secret to. There are creatures in this world and others that make it their business to use humans with gifts for their own gain. Eric already knew that I couldn't be glamoured. In for a penny, in for a pound.

"I'm a telepath." I said quietly. You never know what could be listening. "I can read minds."

Eric's face became stony and he turned to face me. I could feel my heart racing. Since I only came up to his chest, I raised my head to look up at him. His gaze went from my head down to my feet and then back again. He was considering me. He was deciding whether or not I was a threat.

"I can't read your mind. The minds of supernaturals are difficult to read." I explained in a rush.

"You can't read me at all?" He asked seriously.

"Not a peep." I said. It was something that had puzzled me since I began grave guarding. It hadn't taken me long to realize that I couldn't read nonhumans. Up until then, I had assumed that I would be able to hear just about anything. The first time I tried, I had gotten nothing except white noise and I needed to know why. I started spending more of my time in the library. While most of the neuroscience books had gone over my head, I had come to some of my own conclusions since then. Maybe the neural pathways of supes were different than those of people. I'd probably never know for sure without becoming some sort of mad scientist's pet project. There isn't a book on telepathy for dummies anywhere I've looked.

"That's interesting." He said after a long pause. Eric seemed satisfied with my answer. "I had a psychic once. It was incredible."

"Did the psychic think so?" I replied tartly.

"For a while." As the unpleasant images of the psychic's demise paraded through my imagination, Eric looked off into the distance. His blue eyes were so clear and focused that I thought for sure that he could see through the trees as easily as looking through a window.

"I must go." He said simply. After he spoke, I looked down at my wrist and pressed a little button on the side of my watch. The face glowed softly to life and I glanced at the little hands and was surprised to see that it was well past four in the morning. I hadn't realized that it had gotten so late. Sunrise would be coming soon and my job would be done.

"Before you go, will you promise me that you will get my message to Mr. Compton?" I asked.

"I will." He replied. He smiled and his fangs flashed white. "Mr. Compton will see to his business next sundown."

"Thank you, Eric. It was a pleasure to meet you."

"The pleasure was mine."

**Author's note: Sorry that this update took so long. I've often had this problem when I write. I know what I want to see as far as major events and turning points in a plot but I have trouble getting them to flow together smoothly. Besides that, I'm in between jobs right now, and starting research for a novel I want to rough draft for NANOWRIMO. I'll try to keep things more regular. And if any of you have hints for beating writer's block, I'd love to hear them. **


	5. Chapter 5

High noon had come and gone by the time I got out of bed. As I made my way to the bathroom, I went over my to-do list for the day. I needed to cash the check for last night's work. I should probably let Jason know that I survived the night. Most importantly, I needed to make some phone calls. Last night's attack by the Plat-eye was not something that I had been prepared for. By sheer luck, Eric had shown up and was around to back me up when the fighting started. Next time, I may not be so lucky. Besides, it had been a while since I had given Octavia a call.

After I took a second shower (I had taken the first as soon as I trudged through my door that morning) and I was certain that I had finally gotten all traces of the Plat-eye off of me, I dressed for the day. It had taken a bit of a time to decide what to wear. I ended up in a plain pair of jeans and a t-shirt. Since I would hopefully be taking Mr. Compton back to his house that evening, comfort had to come before style. Moving furniture in a skirt just isn't practical.

The afternoon sun had warmed the floors beneath the windows and I could feel the heat as I made my way to the kitchen. Next to the phone, the answering machine beeped. The little red light blinked at me and a shiver ran down my spine as I remembered the unnatural glow of the Plat-eye's eyes. I was going to have nightmares about that for a while. I reached over and pressed the play button before shuffling over the cupboard to make myself a pot of coffee.

"This message is for Sookie Stackhouse on behalf of William Compton." The female voice sounded as mechanical as a customer service recording. "Thank you for alerting us to the situation regarding Mr. Compton's property. He would like to arrange a meeting as soon as possible to reclaim what is his. If you would call the following number at your earliest convenience, I will be sure that the message reaches him. My name is Jessica."

I replayed the message and scribbled down the number on the notepad I kept next to the phone. The coffee pot gurgled as I set down the pen and pulled out my address book. I flipped through the pages until I got to one so often used the page had begun to fall out. The bright red letters read, Octavia Fant, New Orleans.

With the first cup of caffeine in my hand, I perched on the stool and dialed. It rang only once, just as it always did before she answered.

"Octavia Fant." No preamble, no greeting. She hadn't changed a bit.

"After a night like last night, it's a relief to hear your voice." I replied. I meant every word.

"Well, if it isn't Sookie Stackhouse!" Octavia exclaimed with cheer. "Amelia has been asking about you."

"You can tell her that I need a boo-daddy. I got jumped by a Plat-eye last night."

The phone went silent. Fiddling with the hem of my shirt, I waited for a response. My calls to Octavia had never really been purely social but I guess even she had never thought that I would run into a beastie like that. I took a gulp of coffee to calm myself.

"It's nothing short of a miracle that you're talking to me right now, child." Octavia's voice was serious, almost like she was scolding me.

"I know. I had an undead guardian angel."

"A vampire?"

With a deep breath and a sigh, I found myself thinking about Eric. While the sheer animalistic violence of the fight made my stomach lurch, there was something beautiful about the way he moved. He was like a lightning storm, fast and powerful. You could admire from a distance but heaven help you if you should get in its way. He was a man who demanded respect.

"Yes, ma'am. Out of the kindness of his not-beating heart, he saw fit to save me when it attacked." I said with a small laugh.

"Well, I'll be," she breathed. After living as long as she had and being a witch for as long as she had, Octavia had seen her share of oddities too. Ghosts, monsters, bokors, you name it. It was probably all water under the bridge for Octavia. She was my life line when things got tough. Not even a fairy godmother could have been as good to me as she had been.

"A boo-daddy takes at least a week to make, Sookie." She said. "After you gather the ingredients, you have to leave it out in the bayou for seven days to charge."

That wasn't what I wanted to hear. If Plat-eyes were on the move, than something was happening. Sure, my doors and shutters were painted robin's egg blue but a country charm like that would only hold back so much.

"What should I do until then? I can't just hold up in my house for a week, I have to work."

"Couldn't you ask that vampire for help?"

"Eric? No, he just happened to be in the right place at the right time. There's a vamp moving back into the Compton house. Maybe he could keep an eye out for me."

"Whatever you decide, you'll have that boo-daddy in a week."

"Thanks, Octavia. I really appreciate it. Tell Amelia I say 'hello'."

"I will. Take care of yourself, Sookie."

I hung up the phone and let go of a breath I didn't even know I was holding. I felt every muscle in my body relax. Even the ones in my badly bruised back felt better. A little good news does great things to soul and the body, I guess. Some of the weight of my worries had been lifted off my shoulders.

Feeling more assured, I called Jessica and agreed to meet Bill at the Compton house later that evening. For such a young sounding woman, she had an awfully clipped way of speaking with me. While we spoke, I could just picture her, hair pulled harshly back into a bun and dressed in an expensive, dark, and uncomfortable suit sitting at her desk. The only positive quality I could find in her was that she was efficient. If a woman like that worked for a vampire, I could only imagine the kind of man William Compton was.

When the sun began to sink, I took stock of some of the things that I needed. I grabbed a small hand gun, a notebook and pen, and the keys to the house. Judging by how quickly Jessica had handled things, they may Mr. Compton's keys by now. I'd have to be sure to ask him if he had filled out the paper work.

Promptly at nine, there was a knock at my door. I stood up from the couch and smoothed out my shirt as I made my way to the door. When I opened it, I was stunned.

"Are you Miss Sookie Stackhouse?" He asked politely. For a second, I was struck dumb. Looking at his face was like looking at a photograph in a history book or an old family photo album. His dark hair was combed neatly into place and his sideburns trimmed just so. His eyes were an equally deep shade and the memory of ages floated slowly through them. There wasn't a hint of a beard or mustache and he was just as milky white as Eric was. The contrast of his colors made me think of the black and white pictures that his family may have once had of him.

"Miss?"

"Oh, yes, I'm Sookie Stackhouse. William Compton, I presume?" My words came out in a tangled mess. I was so embarrassed, I was sure I was blushing.

"Please, call me Bill."

**Wow. This is what happens when the plot bunnies attack at one in the morning. I worked a late shift and I just wanted to get some sleep but, no. No, the bunnies wouldn't let me. Let's just consider this a bonus chapter in apology for the last chapter's delay. **


	6. Chapter 6

Gathering my wits, I opened the door wide and smiled my best smile. As extraordinary as Bill's face had been, his clothes were anything but. He looked like an office worker. From his pressed button down shirt and khaki pants to his dress shoes, there wasn't stitch of cloth out of place. If you put him at a desk in a cubicle, you never would've noticed that he was any different from the other employees. In his hand was a brown leather briefcase.

"Would you like to come in before we leave, Bill?" I offered. "I bought some True Blood if you would like a drink."

"I appreciate the offer Miss Stackhouse." He replied. His southern accent was heavy, like molasses. "However, I would like to attend to the business of my home first."

I stepped aside to let him in. He wiped his shoes on the rug and took a seat in the living room. As I closed the door behind him, I could see him out of the corner of my eye. The case was set on the coffee table and he had opened it. There were a few pockets but a laptop computer took up most of the space inside. The pocket in the top was filled with manila envelopes and folders filled with paper work. It was a mess.

"Have you decided to reclaim the Compton house?" I asked. I hoped that he would say yes. Since Bill had taken the couch, I pulled up a chair and sat across the table.

"Yes, in fact, I had Jessica draw up the paper work for me before I rose this evening." That Jessica didn't seem like the sort who got out much.

"You'll need to turn it in to the parish. Don't worry, tomorrow is Friday so maybe Jessica could take it in for you." I got up from my seat and grabbed my purse from the kitchen counter. I sat back down and rummaged for the keys in the inside pocket. "These are the keys to the house. The lawyer handling the late Jesse Compton's estate has the other. Have Jessica give him a call first thing tomorrow."

"Thank you for all of your help, Miss Stackhouse." The politeness was beginning to feel a little stiff.

"Please, Sookie is just fine, Bill." I beamed at him, hoping to lighten the mood a bit. To my surprise, he gave me a small smile in return. Bill wasn't at all like Eric. He was much more reserved.

"Well, shall we go have a look at the house then?"

"That would be wonderful."

As we climbed into his car, a black Cadillac, I tried to remember how things had been arranged. I expected most of the furniture to be covered with cloths and some of the smaller items were already sorted and set out on a few table. From what Mrs. Fortenberry had told me, an auctioneer from a Shreveport antique store had already been by this morning. Ms. Caroline had called earlier in the week. For such an elderly woman, she certainly worked fast.

It wasn't long before we reached the Compton house. Before I could stop myself, I inwardly cringed at the state it was in. The deck railing was warped or had fallen off in places. Even in the dark I could tell that the exterior paint job needed to be redone. The roof was missing a few shingles here and there. When we climbed the stairs to the front door, the wood groaned and bowed beneath our weight. This house wasn't a family heirloom. It was a family death trap.

I turned to face Bill, crazy Sookie smile and all, and said, "Since it's your house, I'll let you do the honors." I held the keys out to him. He put out his hand to take them slowly, almost reverently. For just a second or two, he stared at the front door. I don't think he was really seeing it as it was now, but as it was the last time he had seen it. I couldn't even begin to imagine what that had to feel like.

The air around us was heavy with unvoiced feeling as he turned the key and opened the door. For all of the flaws on the outside, the inside was still beautiful. In anticipation of the estate sale, everything had been cleaned and polished from floor to ceiling. While Bill found the light switch, I marveled at how the moonlight stretched in silvery shadows on the wood floors. What I assumed was a covered lamp and pair of wing back chairs sat silently like ghosts in the next room. Talk about not judging a book by its cover.

"Other than the electricity and modern plumbing," Bill said as he flipped the switch, "This house has hardly changed at all." My eyes adjusted to the suddenly glaring lights. He smiled warmly as he walked through the first floor. He was like a kid on Christmas morning, looking over the wrapped gifts. I liked it when he smiled. His smile was a handsome one.

"The antique dealer was here this morning." I said. "The items here in the house have been priced and tagged. If you want to keep anything, tell me. I'll make a list of the tag numbers and prices for you. Give the list to Jessica and I'm sure the dealers can square away the purchase for you."

Bill turned and gave me another smile. "Thank you."

I fiddled with my purse and blushed. "You're welcome, neighbor. I don't live far from here and I have an early shift tomorrow so, I'll leave you be."

"Sookie before you go, I have a message for you from Eric Northman."

I stopped dead in my tracks. Eric. Eric had a message for me. Lost in my thoughts, I barely noticed Bill searching for something in his pants pocket. My mind was an angry beehive of thoughts. Did Eric really want to see me or my telepathy? Was he going to use me like I feared he would? Bill pulled out a black business card and held it out to me. If there was a more clichéd name for a vampire bar out there than this, I hadn't found it yet. Embossed on the card in blood red letters was a name and slogan:

Fangtasia  
>The Bar with Bite<p>

**I think my plot bunnies are on speed. First, I'm struck with a case of writer's block I was sure I was never going to be rid of and now, the mental movie for this story just won't stop. Anyway, thank you all for your reviews and comments. Thanks also to Pandora internet radio for the story sound track that keeps the creativity going. And a special thank you to Charlaine Harris for writing the novels and Annie Cheney, author of "Body Brokers: Inside America's Underground Trade in Human Remains". Without them, this story wouldn't have been possible. **


	7. Chapter 7

I looked over the glossy black card. On the back, there was a phone number and Shreveport address. I turned it over and over again and tilted it every which way looking for a note. How you would write a visible note on a card like this was beyond me. In the end, I came up empty. I pursed my lips and look at Bill.

"Well, what does he want?" I said sourly. I put my hand on my hip and looked at him. His brow furrowed and he seemed a little confused. Sure, I can read minds but I don't know everything. If Eric wanted something, he needed to tell me. You can't just give someone a business card and expect them to know what you want.

"He would like you to go and speak with him." Bill replied. He looked at me like I was a little slow. Eric was a real piece of work if he thought that just sending me a business card would be enough to get me to drive the hour to Shreveport. Whatever it was that he needed, it had better be good.

"Thanks, Bill." I sighed. He saves my life once and then expects me to take orders like some sort of lackey. Great. I was grateful for his help but not that grateful.

Before I walked out, Bill told me what he wanted to keep. The list was short, just a few items; the kitchen table and chairs, the family bible, a photo album, and one of the wingback chairs. Ever the Southern gentleman, he offered me a ride home. With plat-eyes roaming our land, I wasn't about to say no. I almost fell asleep if the bumpy ride down my driveway hadn't jostled me awake. Bill even walked me to the door.

After we said our goodbyes and the headlights of his car disappeared into the distance, I got ready for bed. Sleep didn't come easily. I tossed from side to side, unable to get comfortable. I stared out the window. I stared at the ceiling. I stared at the pictures of my gran and parents that I kept on my bedside table but the answers to my questions were nowhere to be found.

It felt as though I had just fallen asleep when I heard someone pounding on my front door. With my head full of fog and my body feeling like lead, I dragged myself out of bed. Grabbing a house robe from my closet, I rushed down the stairs to the front door. When I swung it open, I couldn't have been more surprised. Or embarrassed to be seen in my night clothes.

"What can I do for you, Sheriff Dearborn?"

"I'm sorry to wake you this morning, Miss Stackhouse but, this call couldn't wait." Tucked under his arm, Bud had a manila folder. It was so thin that I wondered if there was anything inside it at all.

"I hope you don't mind giving me a minute to get dressed. Please, come inside," I offered. "I'll put a pot of coffee on."

Bud sat himself down at the kitchen table. I started the coffee, and quickly returned to my room. I didn't want to make him wait so I pulled a dress from my closet. It was white cotton and printed with large red flowers. It was going to be hot out today and took only seconds to wiggle into. I ran a brush through my bed head hair and tied it back with an elastic band. Just as I was about to leave my room, I figured that I better grab a sweater shrug. The girls looked good in this dress but this was business.

When I stepped back into the kitchen, Bud had the folder open and the papers spread on the table. There were only five sheets of what looked like police reports. Paper clipped to each one, were pictures. Some of the reports had two pictures and some had more. One of them, the most detailed looking file, had five. When I leaned over his shoulder to get a better look, I noticed that the pictures were of dug up graves. The casket lids had been thrown open exposing the insides. All of them were empty. My heart sank into my feet.

I silently poured two cups of coffee. I didn't bother going for the sugar or cream. This was going to be a black coffee sort of day.

"Where were these taken?" I asked as I flipped through the pictures. There were steel coffins, wood coffins, and fiberglass coffins. Some were lined and some weren't. One of them, a glossy mahogany number, was custom made. I could tell by the shimmering bright pink satin lining. Colors like that aren't exactly a funeral standard.

"All over the state." He said grimly. "At first, we thought that they were unrelated. None of the deceased had anything in common, not a first glance, anyway. Each one was dug up only one or two days after burial."

"Huh, they're hardly letting the dirt hit the casket." I said. Bud looked up from the pictures at me. He was somewhere between shocked and appalled and his thoughts said it too. _Crazy girl thinks this is some kind of joke? Wouldn't be that way if it was her gran's body that had been snatched._

"Don't you dare even think such a thing, Bud Dearborn," I said icily. His face flushed red with indignation. With the cobwebs in my brain washed out with my cup of coffee, I slammed the walls up inside my head. Nasty thoughts like that weren't going to make things any easier for us.

"You said that they didn't have anything in common at first, didn't you?" I pressed. "Did you find something later in the investigation?"

"Yes we did but, these days, it might be nothing so, may I ask you a question first?" I nodded. "Some of the officers are speculating that these may be ritualistic grave robberies. Further south, there's talk of voodoo, cults, and other such nonsense. What do you think?"

"Did you find anything next to the graves? Other than dirt, I mean?"

"Like what?"

I thought back to what Octavia had taught me. When a grave robbery is meant to be a part of a ritual, sometimes those responsible leave something behind. The reason is to appease the spirit whose body you're stealing. Others leave offerings as a sort of "payment" to graveyard guardians and deities of the underworld. Nothing can mess up magic quite like an angry ghost.

"Coins, alcohol, or tobacco?" I said. If he told me that they had found a sacrificial animal, I was going to have to give Octavia another call. I know my limits.

"No, nothing like that," He replied after a moment of thought. Cautiously, I put my shields back down. He was worried about how the police were going to have to explain something like that to the press without a causing an uproar. They had kept the story under wraps for nearly a month. Then, when preliminary investigations had turned up nothing, a family member of one of the abductees went to the Shreveport Times. It would appear on the front page of every Louisiana newspaper tomorrow. He was relieved that it didn't appear to be the work of a cult.

"So, what was it that they had in common?" I asked.

"All of the victims were known to hang around vampires before they died."

I had left Eric's business card upstairs on my dresser. The little black rectangle and the attached message hadn't meant much to me before now. Did the vampires know about this? If they did, were they somehow involved? Unless the kidnapped dead were really undead, I couldn't think of a reason why a vampire would steal a corpse. If the media speculated that vampires were taking bodies, the backlash would be a nightmare.

"Had any of them wanted to be turned?"

"Made into a vamp? No." He stood and gathered up the papers and pictures and slipped them back into the folder. "Thank you for your help, Miss Stackhouse. I'm sorry if this seems abrupt but, you're not an officer."

I nodded my understanding. "Not a problem, Sheriff. If you need anything else, please, give me a call."


	8. Chapter 8

I stood at the bar refilling the salt shakers, lost in thought and theories. Merlotte's was a ghost town so I had been doing that most of the day. It was just me, Sam, and the cook for the lunch shift and barely a soul had drifted in. Only poor Jane Bodehouse had come to keep us company. Once the salt shakers were filled, I'd have to give her son a call to come pick her up. So far, I had restocked the bar, the ketchup, the mustard, and the napkin holders. Honestly, I was running out of chores to do. At least the dinner and late staff wouldn't have to worry too much about them later.

The quiet gave me a chance to brainstorm. Sherriff Dearborn's visit that morning had left me troubled. Ideas that went from plausible to completely absurd had been looked at. The Plat-Eye attack was fresh in my mind too. For a horrifying few seconds, I wondered if the two were connected. But how? If the grabs weren't part of a larger scheme, I doubted that there was some big shadow man controlling the Plat-Eyes to keep outsiders away while his followers made a grab for the fresh bodies.

"Cher, are you feeling all right?" Sam asked from behind. I must've jumped six feet into the air. "We're slow enough that you can go home if you're not well."

I looked up at him and tried to smile. Sam Merlotte was a boyishly handsome man. His messy hair stuck out every which way in a fashion that almost made it look like it was intentional. While shorter than some of the men I knew, he was well built and it showed beneath his t-shirt. I had worked with him for years and he was one of the few people who wasn't afraid of me. I knew that he had his own secrets (his brain didn't sound the same as other folks') but I hoped that he would tell me in time.

"Bud Dearborn came by this morning." I tried to keep it vague. My voice came out in a huff and I just ended up sounding like a frustrated child.

"What happened?" He asked. He was genuinely concerned. "Your brother isn't in trouble is he?"

"No, Jason is just fine. Sam, I can't really talk about this. It's police business."

Sam gave me a hard look. I couldn't hear the snarled thoughts very clearly but I did know that he was disappointed and angry. Disappointed in what looked like a lack of faith in him and angry that I had been pulled into another thing I "couldn't talk about". By the cops. He glanced at my serving tray of salt shakers and then back at me.

"After you've finished up with these, why don't you go home, Sook? We never did get our lunch rush and Arlene will be here in half an hour anyway."

My elbows came to rest on the bar and I hung my head in my hands with a groan. Money was already tight as it was. If the car ride with Bill had shown me anything, it was that I needed to have my driveway repaired. It would only be a matter of time until I damaged my car in one of the pot holes and that was not an expense that I could afford. I needed the hours but without the tip money, it wasn't worth it.

"Okay, Sam. I just need to get these back onto the tables and I'll be out of here."

I untied my apron as I went back to Sam's office for my purse. I frowned at how light it felt in my hand. I had hardly worked at all and it showed. My white Merlotte's tee and black shorts didn't have a single stain on them.

Sam was on the phone when I entered his office. By the look on his face and the stack of papers on his desk, I was sure that it had something to do with the book keeping. I waved my greeting, grabbed my purse from the lower desk drawer, and mouthed a good bye on my way out the door.

"Sookie," He called with his hand over the mouth piece. "You know that you can always talk to me when you need to."

"I know." I replied. I quietly closed the door behind me and made my out of the back of the bar.

After I got home and kicked off my working shoes, I thought about what to wear that night. What do you wear to a vampire bar when you need to talk business? I had seen the dark, gothic, "vampire chic" styles plastered on magazine covers. Vogue, Harpers Bazaar, and Elle were the first to jump on the bandwagon when the vampires came out of the coffin. Those were the sort of clothes that the fangbangers wore. Ick.

Hanging up on my closet door was the white floral print dress from that morning. I thought about it, and figured that with my sweater shrug and matching red purse and shoes, it would look just fine. At least it would make it easy for Eric to find me in the bar, right?

Since I had cut loose early, it was only about three in the afternoon when I had gotten home. If nothing else, I figured that I could work on my tan before I got ready. Maybe a little solar power could help me come up with something for Sherriff Dearborn.

After changing into a bikini and grabbing my lawn chair, I planted myself close to my Gran's flower beds, lay back, and relaxed. The sunshine was warm on my skin and the flowers smelled so beautiful. A warm summer breeze brushed across me and I was in heaven.

Laying out there in my outdoor think tank, I realized that there was a lot of information missing from what Bud had told me this morning. He had wanted my opinion on the case but there was so little for me to work with. I got to glance at a couple photographs but they hadn't been very helpful. I didn't even know who had been buried. Were they young? Were they old? Had the deaths been natural, accidental, or something else? What was their state of health at the time of death? It was possible that someone desperate was harvesting organs. That was an especially unpleasant thought.

Hours later, I was behind a line of darkly dressed people (mostly women) feeling out of place and desperately trying to remind myself that vampires or not, Fangtasia was bar just like any other. The breeze that night was chilly so, after the first few minutes of inching slowly closer to the door, I was glad that I had worn my shrug. I stood up on my tiptoes and looked to the front. A bored looking blonde vampire stood at the door. She was in a black dress cinched so tight that it left nothing to the imagination. The material it was made of was shiny like an oil slick. You didn't need to be a telepath to see that she was miserable. Maybe it was the parade of tourists and fangbangers that must come through every night. Maybe it was the pair of dangerously high heeled boots she was wearing.

As I rummaged through my handbag for my ID and the business card Eric sent me, I could feel the vampire's eyes on me. As I handed her the cards, she quirked an eyebrow and gave me a crooked half-smile.

"Well, aren't you sweet," she said mockingly.

"Not especially. I'm here to see Eric," I replied.

"Everyone is, bloodbag," she sneered.

The inside of Fangtasia was as clichéd as the name. Red and black were the dominating colors. Music blasted from large speakers propped in every corner of the room. A plain bar stretched back to my right and a table of souvenir postcards, shot glasses, and t-shirts sat to my left. Both were lit by red shaded lamps. A few tables, also black, paired with red cushioned chairs were scattered throughout the room. Even some of the vampires had embraced the stereotype. They looked like they had been plucked strait out of an Anne Rice novel. The fangbangers clustered around them like ants at a picnic.

I took one look around the bar. Eric was nowhere to been seen so I made a decision. I needed a drink.

As I approached the bar, I noticed that the bartender was of the undead variety too. A small, slight, Asian woman, she looked barely five feet tall. Strait black hair was tied neatly into a low pony tail that fell to her waist. Her high collared dress was made of pink silk and embroidered with black flowers. The slit in the side rose to the hip to show milky white legs and pink slippered feet. A large peony was pinned in her hair. What struck me most, I think, was the serene smile that played on her lips.

"What may I get you?" She asked sweetly. The peony, which I had thought was a fabric hair clip, was very real, and very fragrant.

"Gin and tonic, please," I replied. The smile never left her face as she turned around to the rows of liquor behind her and mixed my drink. She was like a booze slinging Buddha. The ice in the glass clinked as she set the drink down in front of me.

"Is Eric around? He wanted to see me," I said.

"He will be out soon for a drink," She said simply. "Please, enjoy your drink and the entertainment while you wait."

So, I settled onto the bar stool and waited. And waited. And waited. Nearly an hour had gone by and the crowd in the bar had swelled to barely legal numbers. Tourists, fangbangers, locals out for a night on the town, it was as if all of Shreveport had packed into Fangtasia. The voices were started to become a little too loud for my comfort and I was itching to get outside for only a moment to quiet my thoughts.

Hopping down from the barstool, nearly frantic to leave, I didn't notice the pair of college boys behind me. A couple shouted insults here, a light shove there, if my back hadn't been turned, I could've seen the bar brawl about to happen from a mile away. Arguing over a pretty red-headed vamp after a few too many drinks, the two were ready to fight. Gran always did say that women and whiskey were a poor combination. I slung my purse over my shoulder as one of the boys crashed into me like a freight train. He regained his balance and threw a hard punch as I tumbled onto the floor. Mad as a hornet in hairspray, I turned to look just in time to see a pink blur and then it was over.

The little vampire bartender had the front of each boy's shirt clutched in her hands. Though they both easily stood a foot taller than her, she had lifted them clean off the floor and held them as they kicked and grunted. She was completely still. Every trace of her soft smile was gone and her dark eyes were icy. All eyes in the room were on them. Not even a whisper was spoken.

"There is no fighting in the bar," she said. "I must kindly ask for you to leave. Now."

The boys looked down at her, all the fight drained out of them and replaced with terror. They promised that if she let them go, they'd leave. They promised that they would leave and never come back. The smile returned as she set them down as gently as a pair of kittens.

"Before you go," she added as they turned to bolt, "apologize to this young lady."

I looked up at them from my seat on the floor. Their thoughts were a drunken, slurred, and panicked rush. One of them wondered why I so special. After the hasty apology and hastier retreat, I wondered too. A little hand took mine and helped me to my feet.

"You are unharmed?" The vampire asked.

"I'm all right," I replied. "Not even a scrape."

"Good. It would not do for Eric's guest to be hurt in his own bar."

As if on cue, as the bar began to return to normal, every human mind was suddenly focused on the beautiful blond vampire striding across the dance floor. Dressed in a black silk shirt, dark grey suit pants and black shoes, Eric looked every bit the bar owner. From the look on his face, he knew of the short-lived fight and he was not pleased. The bartender bowed deeply when he came over.

"What happened here?" He asked sternly.

"Two humans chose to fight over miss Emilia. It's been taken care of," she replied.

"See that we have no further incidents this evening."

"Of course, Eric."

His business with her finished, Eric turned to me.

"Ah, miss Stackhouse. Come with me to my office. I believe that we have much to discuss."


End file.
